


Etched on Me

by kscribbles



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, First Time, Romance, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-11
Updated: 2012-09-11
Packaged: 2017-11-14 00:30:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/509405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kscribbles/pseuds/kscribbles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It's perfect," he said, tracing the flawlessly rendered loops and swirls of his native text.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Etched on Me

**Author's Note:**

> Wwithout the help of my two amazing betas, requialexa and platypus, I'd still be fiddling with this and frowning. Written in 2009.

It wasn’t only Time Lords that had a sense of time. Humans, the Doctor told her more than once, had a fairly uncanny ability to correctly gauge the passing of time even while asleep. Rose always had a pretty good idea what time it was when the Doctor finally slipped into bed with her for the night.

He was only part human, and didn’t need as much sleep as she did, but that human part demanded much more sleep than he was used to. They were only a couple weeks back in this world, with him inhabiting his new hybrid body, and he’d already complained countless times about the few hours a night he had to give up to sleep.

That didn’t stop him from clinging to her like his life depended on it during those hours, though. He had done since their first night together on this Earth. He’d crawl in in the wee hours, gently easing back the duvet and scooting over to her, always trying not to wake her and usually failing; she’d become a very light sleeper over the past few years. He’d inch across the expanse of their large bed and wrap his long arms around her. Sometimes she’d feign sleep, sometimes she’d groggily ask him what time it was, though she usually knew already.

She’d quickly grown accustomed to his single heart thudding against her back, or sometimes beneath her ear as she’d lie against his chest. She found she slept more soundly when he was there with her.

But for all that they were sort of sleeping together, they weren’t _sleeping together_.

It wasn’t something they discussed at all. Not since their very first night together. Exhausted by adventure, heartache, and making it home from Norway, they’d fallen together into her bed. She’d asked him to hold her and he’d readily complied–a few soft words between them determined they’d deal with the state of their relationship when they were more clearheaded. But that hadn’t happened yet.

During the daylight hours, they still walked around each other a bit like they were on eggshells, and discussions of love, sex, the past, the future… those were all unofficially banned subjects. Despite his offer to her on the beach on the second worst day of her life, she still was desperately afraid he’d become restless with day to day life and leave, and she didn’t want to possibly utter something that would spook him, trigger his instinctual reaction to flee. He seemed to be just as afraid that she’d bolt.

Which was ridiculous, of course. She had no intention of going anywhere without him. Even going to work was difficult. She was only going in part-time now, and curiously, no field work assignments seemed to be coming her way. While at the office she found herself always thinking about how he was doing, what he might be getting into in their little flat, what he might be tinkering with. But mostly, she just wanted to be near him. He wasn’t the only one who was a bit clingy. She figured they’d earned that right.

Clingy, and yet not close enough. She thought those old boundaries had been shattered by a few words whispered in her ear on a beach, by the press of her lips against his, but habits died hard, she supposed. They seemed to be in a holding pattern that was growing less and less comfortable as time went by.

 

* * *

The Doctor frowned at the pieces of metal in his hands, thankful for the welcome distraction that was Rose. She was home from work early today. She’d popped her head into the spare room where he was sprawled, surrounded by machinery, working on building the housing that would accelerate the growth of their new TARDIS (he hadn’t told her that’s what it was, though; he wanted to surprise her when it was done). She’d called a quick hello before heading off towards the shower.

He’d join her in there shortly. Not _in_ the shower, unfortunately, as often as that wayward thought occurred to him, but to sit on the closed lid of the loo and talk with her about her day, over the rushing sound of the water. It was a habit they’d developed of late, and Rose didn’t seem to mind the intrusion on her private time. He was always mindful of her modesty, though, and would exit before she stepped out of the shower.

He just had to finish soldering these two resisting components before he could go talk to her, lest the whole day’s work be for naught. He forced himself to concentrate; it was delicate work, this, and one tiny mistake could cause the shatterfry unit not to function at all. This was already the third time he’d tried to bridge the gap, but the connection wouldn't hold. Something just wasn't quite right about this configuration. Adjusting his glasses, tilting his head to the side, he was able to see the problem, and mentally cursed himself for missing that the angle of the tiny stabilization arm was off. Finally, after several frustrated minutes, the bits of metal cooperated and he gently set his project down and headed for their bedroom’s ensuite.

He was already talking to her as he approached, asking what she fancied for dinner. Swept up in his own momentum, mind mulling over the contraption he was building and debating the merits of Chinese take-away versus a curry, he didn’t really process the sound of the water turning off. He was in the bathroom before his brain caught up with his feet, just in time to see Rose stepping out of the shower.

She yelped in surprise and he automatically whirled away from her to face the door.

The image of her flushed skin, glistening with water, burned its way through his mind several times as he began to stammer an apology. “I'm sorry, I wasn't paying attention… I should have knocked...” and then his thoughts and speech ground to a halt as something stood out in his mind’s eye that he hadn’t noticed at first.

Whipcord fast, he whirled back around to see her wrapping herself in a fluffy white towel, and caught another glimpse of it–a small tattoo on her right hip.

She secured the towel around herself and regarded him curiously. “It’s all right, Doctor. It… happens.” Her eyes slid away from his and down to where her fingers fiddled with the end of the towel as it made a stark contrast to the smooth skin of her thigh.

Yanking his eyes up from said thigh, he blurted out, “You’ve got a tattoo.”

“Oh.” She seemed surprised and then he watched as her flush deepened. “Yeah. I have.” She leaned against the countertop, seeming like she was trying to look nonchalant.

He took a tentative step towards her, his curiosity getting the better of him. He was suddenly desperate to know what it was, what she’d marked herself with. He’d seen it so fleetingly… round, black, half again the size of a 50p coin. “When?” he heard himself ask, rather than _what?_ as he closed most of the distance between them.

“A couple months after…” She cleared her throat. “After Bad Wolf Bay. The first time. It was… something I saw in my dreams.”

He nodded absently, fixated on that spot beneath the towel. He reached out his fingertips without thought but stopped himself at the last minute, withdrawing his hand. He caught her gaze and, not wanting to destroy the intimacy that had somehow fallen so quickly between them in the moist room, he whispered his next question. “May I see it?”

By way of answer, she began to carefully lift the edge of the terrycloth so as not to expose anything but what he was requesting. Her upper thigh was bared to him, and he found himself swallowing heavily as the towel inched slowly higher. Then he saw it clearly for the first time, sitting starkly against her skin. He gasped and took a step back as he realized what it was.

He met her eyes again, searching. “How? Rose…” He flicked his eyes down to it again, thinking perhaps he’d been mistaken, but no, it was still there. “Rose, this is Gallifreyan.”

“I know. Your language, yeah?”

“Yes,” he answered hoarsely. “How did you..?”

“Told you, I saw it in my dreams. Again and again. That one symbol. I don’t know why. But I could draw it with my eyes closed. Putting it on my skin was the only way to get it out of my head.”

He simply stared at her. “You don’t… do you even know what it means?”

She gave a nervous giggle. “No. Dreams never told me that. Only that it reminded me of you. And I… guess I wanted to be reminded.”

“Rose.” His voice broke on her name under the surge of emotions rolling through him and then without even thinking about it, he slid to his knees in front of her. The tile was cold and uncomfortable, but he didn’t care. All he wanted to do right now was run his hands over this symbol, to kiss her there and then to do the same to the rest of her still-wet body.

He took a steadying breath and slid a hand into his jacket for his glasses and set them on his nose, trying to affect some air of clinical impartiality. He did reach out to touch her then, and the shiver that he felt run through her as he did so shattered any sort of illusion. “But it’s perfect,” he said shakily, tracing the flawlessly rendered loops and swirls of his native text.

?“What is it, though?”

“You didn’t guess?” He looked up at her to see her shake her head. “Rose, it’s my name.”

_His name_ , writ on her skin. Permanently. How or why it happened didn’t matter. Without his knowledge, without knowing herself if she’d ever see him again, she’d marked his name on herself. Marked herself _as his_ , part of him was saying. The wave of possessiveness that crashed through him was staggering.

He thought of the tattoo artist that must have spent quite a bit of time with his hands splayed across Rose’s body, and before he could even think about what he was doing, he wrapped a hand gently around her thigh and then rested his cheek there, closing his eyes.

If she was shocked by the gesture, she didn’t let on. Instead she ran the hand not holding up the towel gently through his hair. “Hoped that was what it was. Never thought I’d be able to ask you,” she said softly.

He breathed in the scent of her–the generic flower smell of her soap, a hint of chlorine from the droplets of water clinging to her skin–but pulsing beneath that, the unique, comforting scent of _Rose_ , and if he wasn’t entirely mistaken, something else entirely, a scent that had never assaulted his senses so completely before.

She _wanted_ him to touch her. And it was just as well because he was in no mood to stop. He wasn’t sure he ever would be. It was one of the reasons he’d always held back, both before and since they’d arrived here, thrust together so unexpectedly into this life. And despite wanting her so badly he ached at times, he hadn’t made any overtures. He’d slide into bed with her, hold her, but never more than that. They’d never even discussed ‘more than that.’

But it was such a small movement, and so inevitable, for him to turn his head and kiss her damp skin. First there on her thigh, then, sliding his hand up to her hip, he set his lips on the tattoo itself.

“Doctor?”

“Yes,” he answered in a murmur against her skin.

“No, I mean, is that what it says?” She released her hold on the towel at her hip and it fell back in place, brushing over his face so that he had to pull away slightly.

“Yes,” he said again. The name he chose, the only name he'd ever wanted, the only one he ever wanted her to know. He slid a hand slowly up the inside of her right leg, starting at her ankle. When it passed her knee she let out a soft sigh along with his name, again.

He loved hearing her say it. He’d gone too long without that sound. He hoped to hear it every day for the rest of his short life. Right now, though, or soon, he wanted to hear her cry it out. It took a surprising amount of willpower not to yank her towel away, to pull her down to the floor with him, to have her against the cold tile.

If she only knew what a constant struggle it was not to touch her, only allowing himself the concession of holding her when they slept. He’d end that now if she was agreeable. And she definitely seemed to be at the moment.

Rose moved her hands to clutch at the countertop behind her as his hand drifted under her towel and higher. A growl escaped his throat when his fingertips reached the apex of her thighs and found a dampness there that wasn’t from her shower. She sucked in a gasp then, but made no move to stop him.

As he ran his fingers over her, exploring, several instincts warred in him at once, how and where to touch her next, but all calling for him to make a further connection with her body. As his own body began to respond in kind, a small part of his brain reminded him that their bedroom would be a better location for acting on those desires and they _should_ probably discuss some things before…. He looked up at her; her eyes were closed and she was biting her lip, and he made up his mind.

He stood, barely losing contact with her as he did. He resumed stroking her, teasing with his thumb as his fingers drifted lower. His free arm came around Rose’s back, holding her to him as he slipped a finger inside her heat. He leaned to murmur in her ear. But before he could speak, she did.

“You like it, then?” she asked breathlessly.

He pulled back to see her face then. Her eyes were open now, though darkened by desire, and searching his. His part-human mind was becoming addled by lust, by the feel of her flesh grasping him, by the promise of what it would feel like wrapped around other parts of him… what was she asking? This? He liked this very much, he thought, as he added another finger and set up a rhythm within her.

She let out a half laugh as her hips moved against him.

“What?” He sounded just as breathless as she had.

“You like it? The tattoo?”

“Oh,” he said, the tempo of his hand slowing for just a second as the reality of the situation slammed into him. They’d never done any of _this_. A flash of ink on her skin, and he lost all sense of himself. She didn’t seem opposed to the idea, though, by her response. He felt himself flush as he answered honestly. “Yes. I… ‘like’ might not be an adequate word.”

She nodded, closing her eyes again and throwing her head back. And again he thought _bedroom_ , lest he embarrass himself before they properly started.

She seemed to be getting close, judging by her movements, the unevenness of her breaths. Between pants she ground out, “And are you…. planning… on kissing me?”

“Oh yes,” he nearly growled.

* * *

Instead of making good on his promise right away though, he stilled his movements. She saw his gaze drift to her lips as he pulled his hand away and stepped back. Immediately her body mourned the loss of contact and her mind reeled to catch up. What had just happened? _Why_ did he stop?

For a few moments she feared that whatever switch had flipped between them would be switched off again, that he’d leave her wanting and pretend this hadn’t happened. It was, after all, protocol whenever they’d got too close in the past. Even his pledging her his love and their sharing a snog had been glossed over while they adjusted to this new life.

He walked a few paces out of the bathroom and before turning and gesturing in invitation. “Come to bed?” His smile was half hope, half seduction.

But she was suddenly uncertain. She took a step forward, clutching her towel to herself protectively.

“Why haven’t you?” she blurted, hating herself for slowing this down, for saying what was on her mind instead of just giving in to the demands of her body.

“Kissed you? Was busy doing–” he began to supply cheekily but she cut him off.

“Since the beach. Why haven’t you kissed me since then? Why haven’t you–”

His face fell a fraction. “Why haven’t _you_ , Rose?”

Her thoughts stuttered to a standstill and she flushed with guilt. He was right, of course. Neither one of them had pushed the envelope. She’d never brought it up again either. How unfair of her to put this on his shoulders when either one of them could have made the first move. Or they could have just talked about it, instead of dancing around each other.

He crossed the space between them and took her hand to pull her gently into the bedroom, towards the bed.

The towel came loose as she half stumbled over her own feet as he tugged her. She saved it with one hand held above her breasts, but it gaped in the middle. She really might as well be naked.

“I didn’t know what you wanted,” she mumbled. “It’s… complicated.” She felt the weight of the truth of the statement settle over her at the same time as she realized it was also very false. Some things were simple if you let them be.

She didn’t miss the way his eyes roved over her newly bared skin. It was clear what he wanted _now_. He released her and gently tugged the towel out of her unresisting hand so it fell at her feet.

“Yes, it is. Or… it was. I want you. All of you.”

His voice had taken on a low timbre that flowed through her like warm mulled wine and she shivered as though he was already touching her again.

And then he was. He slid a hand up her body from waist to breast, skimming the side and then going higher, settling on her throat and gently tilting her head to make her look at him when she lowered her gaze. “Rose, you’re etched on me as well. This whole body…” he indicated his own form with his free hand, “When I regenerated, after the Game Station, I wanted more than anything to please you. For you to want me. Even if I was too much a fool to…”

“I did. Do,” she murmured as her eyes slipped closed again. The cadence of his voice, the hands that he’d set to wandering her body, were like a spell, lulling her, soothing her doubts while fuelling her desire.

“After that Dalek in the street, when I was dying… I don’t remember much, but I know I wanted, desperately, to stay the Doctor you were in love with. If not for that… it probably would have gone normally, new body and no… me.”

She didn’t really want to think about that. If he’d regenerated, if there was only one of him, would she still have been left on the beach? Would there even have been a universe to be left in? His hands stilled, settled on her hips. She opened her eyes to see the vulnerability in his. In this moment, fully clothed, he was much more naked than she.

“I wasn’t sure what you wanted either,” he barely whispered. “If I even had the right to…”

She shushed him by rising up on tiptoe and kissing him.

It was brief and he seemed almost stunned by it, though she couldn’t imagine why he should be after the way he’d been touching her. A slow smile spread across his face.

“ _I_ was meant to be kissing _you_ ,” he said.

She only raised her eyebrows in response.

Like she hoped, he hauled her to him then and crashed his lips down on hers.

She kissed him back eagerly, feeling the last of her uncertainties fade. His lips were firm and sure, moving carefully over hers; only his desperate, possessive grip on her cast any doubt on his control. Any lingering questions she had over how he felt about her faded as he deepened the kiss, sliding his tongue in to meet hers. He was claiming her with his kiss, as if he was putting the finishing touches on her tattoo himself, marking her as his.

But he was offering himself to her at the same time. With only a few movements of his mouth against hers, they were knocking down the final barriers between them. Like they’d been living in a microcosm of their separation until this moment. His universe met hers, no void between them anymore.

It was as if the last few weeks her heart had been wrapped tight in a bandage, both of them so afraid of causing more damage, and now it’d finally be released from the tight grip and could beat its own rapid tattoo.

She moaned slightly into the kiss, loving the way he clutched her. It was so reminiscent of the kiss they’d shared on that windy beach, only this time there was no groan of the TARDIS engines to rip her painfully out of the moment. There was only _his_ groan as he cupped her bum and she shifted against him, trying to pull him even closer.

She loved also the press of his slightly scratchy clothing against her bare skin, but it only served to remind her that she was very naked while he was still very clothed. That just wouldn’t do at all.

She pulled back gently, breaking the kiss, and he blinked at her rapidly, as if to clear a haze from his vision.

“Rose?”

“Clothes,” she responded, clutching and releasing handfuls of his shirt to demonstrate. When he made no movement, she leaned up and whispered in his ear, “I’m naked.”

“I’ve noticed,” he answered before gently kissing her neck where it was offered to him and sliding his hands up her bare back.

Then he released her, took a step back and sat on the edge of the bed. He looked, well, ridiculous… and amazing. Disheveled and rumpled beyond belief, aroused, and a look on his face that could only be described as amazement, threaded through with intense desire. It was a combination only the Doctor was capable of, and she recognized it immediately, even though she’d never seen it before today.

His gaze held hers for a moment before it slid down her body, pausing, she could tell, at the small character at her hip. She watched him swallow, lick his lips, and then look down as his fingers reached to unbutton his shirt.

“Rose,” he said slowly as he worked the buttons, “tell me about it.”

“It?” she asked, entranced by him sliding his white shirt from his shoulders, revealing his vest and pale, deceptively strong arms.

He pulled the vest over his head with little ceremony and nodded towards her hip. “It. The tattoo, getting it done.”

She bit her lip, utterly distracted by his newly exposed skin and his voice, which had returned to its earlier warm, sultry tone. Why’d he want to hear about that now, anyway? Anxious to touch him again, she moved closer, stepping between his thighs, and slid her hands into his hair. He closed his eyes and his nostrils flared as he leaned forward, placing a moist kiss at her belly.

“Rose?” he prompted, his breath warm against her skin. He slid his hands up her thighs, and she was torn between loving his hands on her again and being frustrated that he’d stopped undressing.

“I…” she began shakily as he gripped her hips and planted more kisses. “I asked a mate at work, who sent me to her cousin. The artist, she was great–”

“She?” he murmured.

“Yeah… ” she trailed off as one of his hands delved towards her centre again. She grabbed both of his hands in hers and held them fast as she slid to her knees before him. She placed his hands at either side of him on the bed, and he dutifully kept them still, watching her intently.

Her own hands slid onto his thighs and she slowly moved them upward as she continued. “She was very patient with me, waiting for me to get the drawing just right. Each curve, each line.”

“It’s perfect,” he said again, his voice hoarse.

“It had to be. It was all I had. Came into this world with the clothes on my back, my mobile, and a TARDIS key.” He sucked in a breath at the last, but she wasn’t entirely sure if it was from the mention of his beloved old ship or the fact that her fingers had reached his groin. “Things that could be lost or broken. This,” she said, reaching for the fastenings his trousers, pleased that her hands weren’t shaking with the almost painful desire that she felt coursing through her, “would be forever.”

She undid the button, slid down the zip and then his hands moved again, capturing hers, bringing both up to his lips to kiss.

“I’m sorry you had nothing,” he said. “I had… too much. All your things to remember you by...” He swallowed heavily, his eyes fathomless and shining.

“Still!” he exclaimed suddenly, releasing her and backing up quickly across the bed, removing his trousers completely and kicking them away. “That’s all past now. Time for new memories and new… things. Don’t you think?”

She blinked at his rapid shift of mood; it was so familiar, his switching gears when things got emotionally intense. Then she took in the picture he made, resting casually with his back against the headboard, wearing nothing but a sly smile, eyes now twinkling with mischief and adoration. And when he held his hand out to her in invitation, she found she didn’t mind the sudden change. He wouldn’t be the Doctor if his mind didn’t whirl at a million miles a second and turn on a sixpence.

She sent a bright smile his way and climbed on the bed.

 

* * *

This part-human body had limits. Though, he supposed, if he were honest with himself, he’d never put his all-Time Lord one through situations quite like this before. Feeling one minute like he’d explode if he didn’t make love to Rose this _instant_ and the next like he wanted to just clutch her and weep. Then feeling them both together, along with an almost blinding happiness. Because he was with her and she loved him, she wanted him, her body was screaming for it.

A few weeks ago, every conflicting emotion and impulse he was feeling right now had been entirely impossible. And–as pushed and pulled in different directions as he felt–it was absolutely glorious. Even more glorious, though, was having a lap full of naked and eager Rose Tyler.

She planted her knees on either side of his hips, lifted her arms around his neck and kissed him deeply, trapping her breasts and his cock between them. Her wiggling was a delightful torture, and he felt her smile against his lips when he groaned. He gripped her around the waist then, stilling her, and pulled away from her lips so that he could look her in the eyes. He knew what his were saying: _Now? Please?_

Though no words were spoken, she nodded, biting her lip adorably. His all too single heart thudded loudly in his chest as she rose up enough for him to shift himself into place. At the first touch of her warm, wet flesh against his, he thought he might melt, already the pleasure was so great, but then she was sliding onto him. Together they gasped as he watched her slowly take him in. He clutched her tightly, his fingers covering her tattoo and making the flesh white behind it where he gripped. When he was fully within her, he met her eyes again.

Her face was flushed, the smile she wore almost shy. He’d thought her gorgeous at least a thousand times before, but right at this moment she was the loveliest thing he’d ever seen. She looked back at him, so full of love, of complete acceptance, and he wondered how they’d ever got to this point. And how it was that they had _not_ ever been to this point before. It was clearly inevitable, and so, so perfect. When she gripped his shoulders and began to move above him, ‘perfect’ found a new definition. Then he found he couldn’t hold her gaze anymore, his capacity for deep thought willingly sacrificed to the sensations that coursed through him.

It was too good; each wicked movement of her hips, the sounds they made together, sent him spiraling too close to the edge. He wanted this to be good for her as well, but he’d been already teetering at the limits of his control since just about the moment he saw her step out of the shower. He began to rethink his stance on relinquishing higher thought if refocusing his mind away from how wonderful each thrust or rise or fall of her body felt, how amazing simple friction could be, could help make this better for Rose.

He thought of thermodynamics, which was at least partly relevant ( _hmm… bodies in motion…_ ), but then Rose sped up and leaned forward against him, changing the angle, making it even more difficult to go on. Thermodynamics out the window, he switched to maths. He’d gone from 23-part equations, to multiplication tables, to single digit addition–his mind stuttering as his body leapt forward towards completion–when she said his name.

The image of the character inked into her skin flew through his mind. He gripped her tighter, forced his eyes open. She slowed, then stilled her movements and slid a palm to his cheek.

“Rose?” he heard himself croak.

“Close,” she whispered. “Wanted this… to last.”

She leaned forward and captured his lips. He groaned against her mouth, then slid his arms around her back, holding her tightly to him. He kissed her deeply, drinking her in, keeping otherwise still for as long as he could manage.

When he couldn’t handle not moving any longer, he pulled away almost roughly, mumbling his apologies, “Can’t. Need…” He lifted her off him, and she whimpered at the momentary separation.

He rolled quickly and covered her body, sliding between her thighs, entering her again. They both moaned in relief as he set up a quick, pounding rhythm. She clutched the sheets above her head and wrapped her legs around his hips and began to let out short breathy gasps as he moved deliciously, deeply within her.

Every stroke in and out of her heat was terrifying and amazing. He didn’t want it to end, ever. It would, it had to, any second. _Just have to–_

Fighting to keep his eyes open, he tried to watch as pleasure overtook her.

She threw her head back. _Oh, her neck… I’m going to–_ Twisting. White knuckles against the blankets. _Beautiful. She is so–_ She moaned long and low, a soft, “Oh god,” at the end of it, when he felt her muscles clench, the spasms gripping him all the tighter.

_Love you._

It was only after he finished shuddering against her and his raging heartbeat began to return to normal that he realized that he’d spoken the last aloud. It was the first time he’d said it since the beach. It felt somehow more real this way, not just sealing for her how he’d _felt_ –what he’d been about to say that one time, when he’d broken her heart–but a new affirmation for their new lives together, given to her in the midst of the most human of human acts.

“You know,” she said, running her fingers through his damp hair, “they say it doesn’t count if you say it in bed.”

“It bloody well counts,” he mumbled into her shoulder.

“Good then, because I love you too.”

“Still?” he couldn’t keep from asking. It had been so much longer–years–since she’d first said the words.

“Always,” she affirmed. “Like the tattoo. Forever.”

He levered himself up despite his body’s protest and kissed her again before withdrawing, then slid down to take another close look at the small bit of body art that had instigated everything this evening. He ran his fingers over it again, lightly, reverently.

“Forever,” he repeated, not bothering to hide the awe he felt about her statement. About this new life. About _her_.

“Yeah,” she said with a soft chuckle, brushing her fingers over his on her hip. “And I mean to keep that promise this time.”

“I won’t stop you,” he said in a whisper against her skin.

 

* * *

 

_It’s about time_ , she thought, watching the seconds tick on their bedside clock as the Doctor dozed against her, his breath warm at her shoulder like the arm draped across her waist. Not just for the fantastic shag–that was a long time coming. She always knew they’d be explosive together, and oh, they definitely had been. They’d stuttered and started through their emotional release as they’d pursued the physical one their bodies craved. And it was perfect. Just like he said of his name inked on her skin.

She smiled to herself, lightly stroking his wrist where it covered the small glyph.

No, what it was about time for was… everything else. Even if they hadn’t sorted through all of what lay between them just yet, they’d _spoken_ to each other. And if she knew him at all, he’d never go silent again.

The rest would come in time. And time, they had.

 

FIN

* * *

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